Breaking the Fourth Wall
by hotoffthefryer
Summary: Sasuke didn’t really like the way fans wrote his relationship with Sakura. It was wrong. Not necessarily incorrect. But wrong nevertheless.


Sasuke didn't really like the way fans wrote his relationship with Sakura. Sometimes–most times, in fact–authors went over the deep end, filling in the gaps of his communication with fluff that didn't exist. The Uchiha plopped his feet up on his kitchen table and blew the steam off his tea. He wasn't fluffy. He is not a dog. He is not some play thing.

He's Sasuke-fucking-Uchiha. The one, the only, the great, the illustrious. He smirked and drank his tea. Yes, illustrious. Illustrious sounds right.

The good thing about being the only one, he thought, was that no one existed to disagree with him 90% of the time. That way, Sasuke was almost always right. He likes being right. What he says is absolute truth. He hates the way the fans write him? Boom, just like that, the fans write him in a way that's worth hating. It is fact. Law, even, that the fans are ridiculous and deserve his scorn.

Literally every time he gets an alert that someone else has written some twisted interpretation of his life, he cringes. Like. For real. How could he turn off his sensitivity to this thing, this incessant 'Sasuke! Someone else thinks they know you well enough to write 46 chapters of your life!' alert that he gets, night in and night out? And don't get him started on AU, non-massacre, and smut (well, sometimes the smut was nice).

Sasuke cleared his throat, changing his mind. No, he remanded, not even the smut was nice, because it wasn't actually what happened. He liked what actually happened much more. The fans' wildest imaginations would never capture the true depth of what was Sakura's sex. Her actual sex. Not her vagina. Like some pervs somehow managed to type.

One night, after a particularly large amount of notifications, Sasuke couldn't keep this cursed insight of his a secret anymore. He talked to Naruto about it once and the idiot nearly checked him into the psych ward. But, Sasuke knew.

He knew people were out there. Spewing lies about him.

And the pure fact of the matter was that the biggest lie was about him and Sakura. Him and Sakura were...how you say...friends of convenience. Nothing more. They just scratched each other's backs when there were itches. Yes, Sasuke hummed to himself as he delivered his breakfast dishes to the sink, all done with the meal. He looked outside of his apartment window, still not accustomed to seeing clear, blue sky, let alone Konoha. Friends of convenience fits our relationship most comfortably. If he were to call it anything else, that would be wrong.

(Not incorrect)

((But wrong))

He hung his head and sighed heavily, gripping the ledge of his sink and counter with his lone hand. It was all so annoying to him, really, constantly having to filter and edit himself, his feelings, for no one but himself. One thing some writers got right was that he oftentimes felt guilty about Sakura's ability to forgive him, accept him, and love him after all that he'd done. He knew well that he didn't deserve her, but he couldn't help himself. The sounds of Sakura waking up, shifting in his sheets, further reminded him that despite how 'annoying' his 'friendship of convenience' was...he kept on developing it. And he wanted to keep developing it. He wanted to see where it would go.

For some reason.

For no reason.

He really didn't know.

"Ohayo, Sasuke-kun," Sakura greeted, little feet shuffling across his floor. He didn't have to turn around to know that she had adorned herself in one of his tee shirts, that her hair was still just right messy from the night before. He felt each goosebump on his body rise when she got closer to him, and was annoyed to admit within himself that she didn't even have to be touching him to get him to react.

He somehow managed to tighten and melt, simultaneously when her chest pressed against his back and her two arms snaked his waist in an embrace. She felt good pressed against him. If this were some fanfic, Sasuke knew that his ears would probably be reddening, his throat would be constructing, and, Kami, his favorite – his swollen member would be jerking to attention under her sweet, rosen touch.

None of those things were true, Sasuke thought. Sakura didn't even smell like roses. She smelled like cotton. Like any sensible shinobi such as herself would.

Sasuke adjusted his boner before turning around and hugging Sakura back, arm wrapping her shoulders up tightly. He pressed his lips into her hair, "Good morning," and he backed away just enough to look at her. She looked just as she always did. Nothing golden speckled in her eyes and the sun didn't give her some magical halo. He didn't find her especially beautiful because of a blush dusting her apple cheeks, or anything like that.

She looked like Sakura. And that was enough.

"How'd you sleep?" he asked, unable to keep a smirk from tilting his lips upward.

He knew it wasn't as sparkly (fluffy) as the fans liked, but these lines were more than enough to make his heart warm. There was no need to read between them.


End file.
